


tarts and table manners

by shrugs



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Humor, M/M, Oneshot, Oops, Poor Thomas, i think this counts as food porn, ivy makes some really good tarts, jimmy gets a little crazy ngl, thomas has a sweet tooth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7441918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrugs/pseuds/shrugs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s an accident, probably, that Jimmy’s foot finds Thomas’s thigh from across the table.<br/>It’s probably not an accident that this foot wears no shoe, only a sock.<br/>It’s definitely not an accident that Jimmy shoots Thomas a wicked grin and traces his foot higher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tarts and table manners

**Author's Note:**

> HAS THIS BEEN DONE BEFORE....?  
> also sorry lol

Dinner downstairs at Downton is never a quiet affair. Everyone busies themselves with their meal, forks and knives clattering and overly cheerful voices booming from Bates and Anna’s end of the table.

Jimmy and Thomas continue their usual wordless conversation of half-smirks and eye rolls, until Jimmy looks down at Thomas’s plate and frowns.

“You’re not eating much,” Jimmy says, and Thomas shrugs. He knows what is coming. He just has to wait. 

The meal drags on, Bates and Anna making eyes at each other as Baxter and Molesly carry on tiptoeing around their burgeoning romance. Thomas is rather sick of all the lovey-dovey happenings in the downstairs staff. Even Carson and Hughes have been looking extra chummy lately. Although it is rather close to Valentine’s Day, so perhaps that’s what all the fuss is about. Alfred’s been giving Ivy even more wistful looks than normal, which amuses Jimmy if no one else. 

Jimmy doesn’t seem to care for Valentine’s. “I don’t give Valentines. I just get them,” he explains to Thomas from across the table. Thomas shrugs. He doesn’t care to give or get cards. “I prefer the desserts, myself.” 

Jimmy snorts. “You would. You know, liking sweets isn’t very manly.” 

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Says the man whose greatest love is his pomade.” 

The other boy shuts up after this, directing his attention back to his bread. Thomas has won this round.

Dinner is finished, finally, and Mrs. Patmore announces dessert: strawberry tarts. Ivy carries them out on a tray, beaming, and even Carson’s eyes grow marginally wider upon beholding the tarts. Thomas is pretty sure Alfred’s mouth has fallen open, but that may just be because of Ivy. Daisy notices, and scowls, crossing her arms. 

“Ivy made the tarts herself!” Mrs. Patmore declares proudly, her red face glowing with pride. Ivy smiles sheepishly as Daisy glowers. 

“As if I haven’t made the same tarts a hundred times before!” Daisy mutters. 

Carson ignores Daisy. “I’m sure they’ll be excellent, Ivy, thank you. Mrs. Hughes, would you pass the tray?” 

“Indeed I would, Mr. Carson.” 

Thomas is having a hard time waiting for the tray to come around. The tarts are mouthwatering, pastries overflowing with strawberries and thick cream. He’d snuck into the kitchen to taste the cream earlier, and purposely not eaten half of his dinner to save room. It’s probably for the best. Jimmy keeps teasing him about all the sweets he steals from the kitchen, saying that he’s going to grow fat and old. Old, maybe, but not fat. Thomas is actually rather shockingly lean underneath his livery, despite his fondness for sweets. 

The tart tray is passed to Bates, who takes one for himself and one for Anna. Thomas is next in line. It’s actually rather sad how eagerly he’s been anticipating this. 

Suddenly, just as Anna passes him the tray, he feels a soft pressure on his leg. Thomas yelps and drops the tray, sending it clattering onto the butter dish. Tarts bounce and slide onto the table. 

“Barrow! What’s the matter with you?” Carson askes, mouth half full of tart. 

“Nothing,” Thomas says quickly, because the touch has gone away as fast as it came. He gathers up the fallen tarts and helps himself to three, making sure he chooses the ones with the most cream. 

Jimmy coughs, which sounds mysteriously like the words “greedy guts”. Thomas chooses to ignore him, and places the first tart in his mouth. 

It’s as if he hears choirs of angels. Bates and Anna’s loving couple routine is drowned out by the sound of pure strawberry bliss. Thomas is vaguely aware of his eyes fluttering closed. The tarts are delicious. Obscenely so. The crust is just crispy enough, but buttery and flaky to the point where it melts on his tongue. The cream is thick, and sweet, and the strawberries cold and perfectly ripe.

When he opens his eyes and begins to chew, he notices Jimmy staring at him, his mouth slightly opened. 

“What?” Thomas asks, voice muffled by tart. 

Jimmy’s eyes narrow, and Thomas is lost in his golden hair and perfect jaw for a minute before he recognizes Jimmy’s expression. 

James Kent is declaring war. What for, Thomas has no idea. 

Thomas is about to ask “What that face was for?” when Jimmy reaches across the table and steals one of his tarts. “Thievery!” Thomas gasps, but Jimmy’s already raised the tart to his lips-

And licks the cream right off the top, tongue swirling around the strawberry in a circular motion that sends waves of heat right to Thomas’s- Oh, god, is Jimmy doing this on purpose? 

Maybe not, as he devours the tart whole in his next bite and grins innocently. 

Thomas frowns. Perhaps he’s just imagining things. Or he’s gone back to his habit of paying too much attention to Jimmy’s lips. 

He distracts himself with what is now his second and last tart, savoring it slowly, eyes closing again involuntarily. 

Again, he feels the same pressure on his leg, but higher, and this time it stays. Without opening his eyes, Thomas realizes what it is. 

It’s a foot, attached to a leg, pressing against his inner thigh. A sock foot. Thomas dares a look across the table. Jimmy is paying no attention to him, instead immersed in a conversation with Alfred, who’s babbling about Ivy. 

Thomas’s heart starts to pound, but he ignores the foot, thinking it may go away. He’s not sure what game Jimmy is playing, but it’s more than likely he simply thinks Thomas’s leg is a table leg and has yet to realize it’s actually Thomas’s thigh he’s pressing against. 

Until the foot moves higher, and Jimmy starts licking at another tart, moving his foot in circles on Thomas’s thigh in tandem with his tongue, still looking away from Thomas, until Thomas shifts slightly in his seat-

Jimmy looks him in the eye, grins wickedly, and slumps down in his seat. Thomas wonders what he’s doing until he feels Jimmy’s foot reach up to press directly against his crotch. Thomas can feel Jimmy stretch below the table, and see him run his hand through his hair nonchalantly at the same time that he pushes his foot further. 

Thomas makes a noise that’s half muffled by the tart that’s still in his mouth. Mrs. Hughes gives him a strange look, but Thomas ignores it, choosing to stare at Jimmy, eyes wide, from across the table. 

Slowly, Jimmy reaches for another tart, grin spreading, and never breaking eye contact. Thomas is pretty sure he’s gaping. Jimmy takes another tart, and continues the motion of attacking it in circular motions with his tongue. 

His foot launches a similar attack on Thomas. 

Thomas stifles a moan, his heartbeat racing as Jimmy’s foot presses hard against him from across the table. He hears Alfred ask why Jimmy’s slouching as if hearing it through a tunnel, barely able to focus with the blood that’s rushing to his groin. His pants are quickly becoming restrictive as Jimmy’s foot winds in tight circles. Thomas closes his eyes, unable to watch Jimmy’s mouth any longer. Is this the war? How does he go about winning? 

Jimmy’s foot slips, pressing harder against Thomas, toes curling, and before he can stop himself Thomas lets out a small moan. 

“Barrow, are you quite alright?” 

Thomas is pretty sure he’s panting now. He must look a mess, bent halfway over the table, his hair fallen into his face. “I, ah- don’t feel too well, Mr. Carson.” 

“Mr. Barrow’s allergic to strawberries,” Jimmy chimes in helpfully, voice blissfully unaffected, and Thomas looks up in dismay. No he isn’t! He loves strawberries.

“But he ate three tarts anyway, the old glutton.” Jimmy shakes his head, as if Thomas’s eating habits are to be shamed, when his foot is still rubbing lazily into Thomas’s pants. 

“Ugh,” Thomas says, though what he wants to say is “I’m not allergic to strawberries. Please, let me eat more tarts.” 

Mrs. Hughes furrows her brow in concern. “Perhaps you ought to go to bed, Mr. Barrow. Surely eating so many tarts is harmful if you’re allergic. You should lie down.” 

Mr. Carson shakes his head in disapproval, and Anna frowns at Thomas with sympathy. “Why would you eat so many if you’ve got an allergy?” 

Thomas offers a shaky grin in return. “Ah, what can I say? I do love tarts.” 

“You bet he does,” Jimmy says, and Thomas would laugh but Jimmy’s finally ceased his attack and left Thomas’s side of the bench alarmingly foot-free. 

He practically whimpers at this, and just barely disguises the noise as a groan of pain. Bates raises an eyebrow and Alfred snickers. 

“James, would you assist Thomas to his room? I don’t want him getting sick in the hall,” Mrs. Hughes asks kindly, and Carson’s about to object but Jimmy’s already halfway around the corner, helping Thomas up and guiding him around the table. Thomas is bent over, but he’s hoping this disguises the bulge in his pants, and it seems like a believable position for someone with food poisoning. 

When they reach the stairs to the servant’s quarters, Thomas straightens up, breathing heavily. “What- was that?” 

Jimmy grins, and leans back on the bannister. Thomas is equally pleased and confused to see that he’s not so unaffected himself, given the slight tent in his uniform. “That is what you get when you eat too many sweets. I assume you’ve learned your lesson.” 

“Why did I have to learn it?” Thomas asks blankly. 

“Gluttony is a sin,” Jimmy says cheerfully, then leans closer and whispers, “Why, don’t tell me you’d rather it never happened?” 

He’s talking about it so casually, as if innuendo and rubbing each other off from under the table are commonplace for them. Thomas’s mouth has fallen open again. 

Jimmy reaches out and brushes Thomas’s cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture. “Spot of cream.” 

Thomas nods dully. 

The blonde boy takes another look at him and laughs. Thomas can only imagine what he looks like- half bent over, staring at Jimmy in awe, cream on his face, and hair tousled. He can’t bring himself to give one single damn. 

Jimmy shakes his head. “Alright, now get on up with you.”  
“You’re not going to help me walk upstairs?” Thomas asks, not even disguising the hope in his voice.

The smile Jimmy gives him is borderline sadistic this time. “If I did, you wouldn’t learn your lesson, now would you?” 

He has the audacity to wink at Thomas before slipping back into the servant’s hall, leaving Thomas Barrow stranded in the hallway to hobble back to his room alone. He slides into his sheets, resting on his stomach and just barely restraining himself from picking up where Jimmy left off. He’s not sure what that would mean. Why did Jimmy decide to take it that far? Why in the middle of dessert? Will he never be allowed to eat strawberry tarts again?

Thomas dreams of thick whipped cream and Jimmy’s mouth where his foot had been. He wakes, shocked, to find himself half hard. Perhaps Jimmy had won this round.


End file.
